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This story started as an experiment. It was to be tribute to a great erotic author who posted to usenet under the name Dierdre (hence the name of my main character). Alas, she is no longer active. Her stories were frequently terse with a minimum of description but intensely erotic because the reader was left to fill in the details in his/her mind. The brain, of course, is the real sex organ. This story was supposed to be my attempt to capture her style. I failed miserable, either because I was not technically good enough to match her styling or because I could not find my voice in her words. Regardless, I ended up re-writing the story in a style more suitable to me. Still, this story is quite different my usual. It has a first-person narrator, a young woman of 19. And i was quite an experience for me as a writer to try to see the world through the eyes of a 19 year old woman. And I know it sounds absurd but I have to say that after I had completed this story I was half in love with this young lady. Hope you enjoy the result ...

(c) Copyright 2002, Bernhard Traven

"You have to accept the fact that part of the sizzle of sex comes from the danger of sex. You can be overpowered."

- Camille Paglia

"I was making love to the wife the other night but things just weren't working out. So, I asked her: you having trouble thinking about someone else too?"

- R. Dangerfield

Mother didn't look up as I joined her at the kitchen table; so, I decided to take advantage of the lull by helping myself to a small stack of pancakes. I was already pouring the syrup before Mother finally spoke.

"What time did you come home last night?"

I finished pouring the syrup before replying. "Don't know. 11-12. you were asleep."

"I was awake. And it was 2:40 last night."

"Yeah, maybe it was later", I mumbled between bites.

"I was getting worried. I was going to call the hospitals in the area."

I put down my fork, and met mother's eyes. "I'm not a child, you know. I'm 19."

"Deirdre, as long as you live under my roof, you _will_ obey my rules."

"Look ... I was just studying with Kevin."

"Kevin, hmmm. The guy's a geek. You can do a lot better - a lot better. You're an attractive young lady. But look how you dress. You wear nothing but blue jeans. You dress like a boy. When was the last time you put on a dress, wore some makeup ..."

"...Kevin likes me the way I am," I shouted. "I don't have to look like some Miss Priss around him."

"Yes ... I'm sure he respects your mind ... as long as you give him what he wants."

I pushed the chair back hard enough to bang against the cabinet to my back, and rose to my feet.

"And maybe," I said with a grin, "Dad wouldn't have left if you had gave him what he wanted."

"You keep your father out of this", she hissed back. "It's not my fault he took up with some slut! You're stepping over the line, young lady."

I turned and stomped away.

"Wait," she shouted at my back, "You haven't finished your breakfast ..."

"... I just lost my appetite, Mother."

It wasn't until I was stopped at a light two blocks from the university that I discovered that my bookbag was not there. Damn it. Now I was going to have to go back home, be late for class, and confront Mother and her barbs again. Double damn. And it was a Monday! When the light changed, I swung the car into a wide U turn to the noisy accompaniment of several angry honks to my rear.

There was a black Mercedes parked in the driveway with a faded Gore/Leiberman sticker on the bumper. It could only belong to Mrs. Douglas - a neighbor and friend of Mother's. She and Mother had been spending a lot of time together lately - probably commiserating over their mutual divorces. For some reason I've always felt uneasy around Mrs. Douglas. I doubt that she said more than 5 words to me over the years but was something about her that gave me the creeps. Maybe it was disapproving stares she gave me as she looked me over, or, maybe, her snobbish attitude. But maybe the real reason was that she was too much like Mother!

I heard voices from the kitchen as I tiptoed through the living room.

"Suntan. And it's sheer-to-waist, Marilyn. With body contouring," I heard Mrs. Douglas say.

I giggled silently at the thought of a couple of middle-aged women having nothing more profound to discuss than their pantyhose. Knowing mother, I guess that shouldn't have surprised me!

I grabbed my bookbag, and glanced into the kitchen as I passed. I stopped dead in my tracks with my mouth open.

Mrs. Douglas sat at the kitchen table in the same seat I had occupied only half-an-hour earlier while Mother sat in her same seat directly across the table.

There was nothing unusual about any of this - except that Mrs. Douglas had her skirt hiked up to her waist. She ran her hands lovingly down her long legs. "So-oo smooth, Marilyn."

Mother's eyes were glazed over. She said nothing.

"Come here and have a look."

When Mother rose from her chair I was afraid she had seen me standing there. But her eyes never left Mrs. Douglas - or, actually Mrs. Douglas's long legs - as she walked around the table toward Mrs. Douglas.

Mrs. Douglas smiled slyly at Mother. "Enjoying the view?" Mrs. Douglas's index finger traced her inner leg started at the calf upwards toward her inner thigh.

Mrs. Douglas's finger trailed further upward until it rested against the cotton panel of her pantyhose. Her finger moved, slowly at first, but soon fell into a frenzied oscillating rhythm. Mrs. Douglas closed her eyes for a moment, and, then, opened them.

Mother stood there transfixed. I couldn't believe she wasn't doing anything. She stood there while another woman was fingering herself - in my chair!

"Would you like to touch, Marilyn," said Mrs. Douglas in a tone normally used when addressing a youngster.

Mother said nothing. She looked drugged. But she bent down and reached her hand toward Mrs. Douglas! What was going on?

Mother's hand reached for Mrs. Douglas's nylon-covered thigh. But just before her palm touched the silky material, Mrs. Douglas grabbed mother's hand at the wrist.

"No, Marilyn. You know it's not going to be that easy." With her other hand Mrs. Douglas was still working her crotch.

"Ple..ase," Mother said weakly. Mrs. Douglas let go of Mother's hand.

"Take off the robe, Marilyn. You know the rules."

Mother looked confused.

"Take off the robe, Marilyn," Mrs. Douglas repeated more slowly.

Mother opened her robe and let it drop to the floor. She was totally naked! I know she was wearing this same robe earlier this morning, but I could swear she had worn a blue nightgown underneath. Although totally disgusted, I still looked on in clinical facination at the scene before me. I had not seen my mother completely naked since I was a little girl. Although mother had always prided herself on her looks I could see (with some inner amusement) that the years were catching up with her. Those extra stubbon pounds that she frequently had bemoaned lately padded her tummy, thighs and definitely her butt! Her breasts, which were always large for her frame now hung pendulously as if bowed in submission to the years of oppressive gravity. Mother had always teased me about my lack of endowment but at least I won't be playing ping pong with my breasts in 20 years!

These spiteful thoughts danced through my head as if my mind was trying to protect itself from the emotional overload of what I was witnessing. My own mother was standing naked in our kitchen in front of a another woman. Mother stood there with her head lowered. Her dark brown bush was trimmed in a bikini cut although I had not seen her in a bikini in years. (And seeing the weight gain I'm not surprised!) I never saw her so vulnerable as she stood before Mrs. Douglas with a quivering lip and glimmer of anticipation in her glassy eyes.

Some unseen signal must have passed between them as Mother slowly positioned herself on the floor on all fours. She arched her back slightly, which pushed her bare butt upward toward Mrs. Douglas. I couldn't read them -- couldn't understand the emotions that were silently being exchanged. It was like flipping idly to a channel showing a soap opera in a foreign language. I could see Mother's back rising and falling with each breath.

Mrs. Douglas reached for something on the kitchen table. I was a wooden paddle. I felt a white-hot flash of rage when I recognized it! It was originally a toy of mine when I was 9 or 10. Although the paddle's usefulness as a toy soon ended after a few weeks when the rubber ball became detached, Mother had found another use for it. Dad never touched me, but Mother would occassionally paddle my behind when I was acting up. Don't get me wrong! Mother was not really abusive or anything, (other than her mouth!). Mother and I were not always on the best of terms, but I probably deserved most of what I got. The occasional spanking didn't hurt as much as the humiliation I felt by being spanked by something that had once been my toy. I had not seen the paddle since the spanking had stopped several years ago. But here it was; and I could even make out the fadded "DEE DEE" on the paddle written with a child's scrawl in blue ink.

"No. Please. Not like this," said Mother in a tiny voice.

"No?" said Mrs. Douglas. She reached down and ran her fingers through Mother's recently permed hair. Mother said nothing as she continued resting on all fours. "We don't have to do anything," purred Mrs. Douglas.

"We don't have to do anything at all," Mrs. Douglas repeated as she let her open palm gently trail down Mother's spine. "... if you don't want to."

Mother gasped as Mrs. Douglas's hand found her bare butt.

"Sensitive, aren't we?" I noticed for the first time the light pink marks on mother's bottom. They looked like welts!

Mrs. Douglas's hand slowly caressed the rounded curves of Mother's fleshy butt. "Still sore from the last time, poor baby. Or is it really pain you're feeling?"

"You can tell me to stop at anytime. I'll respect your wishes." Mother let out a low, long moan as Mrs. Douglas's fingertips trailed the crack of Mother's ass. With her other hand, Mrs. Douglas reached under Mother to grasp Mother's left breast, which hung distended with all the graceful beauty of an old tom turkey's waddle. Mrs. Douglas pinced the light brown nipple between her fingers and pulled downward, which caused the elongated breast to stretch even further toward the floor. Mother made another gutteral sound, louder this time, that seemed to come from deep within her somewhere. Mother's moan while on all fours coupled with the Mrs. Douglas pulling on Mother's tit reminded me of someone milking a fat and stupid cow.

Mother's mouth was slack. Without saying a word Mother lowered her head until her chin was pressed against the kitchen floor. Mother's hair, a chemical wonder of tawny blond with golden highlights, fell over her face. Her new posture pushed her butt up higher against Mrs. Douglas's hand.

"Well, I guess I have my answer, Marilyn," said Mrs. Douglas as brought the paddle down hard.

Mother's butt jiggled in the aftermath of the blow.

My knees felt rubbery. I openly gasped but the sound was covered by the slap of the paddle and Mother's loud moan.

Mrs. Douglas swung the paddle in angry downward arcs again and again.

I was facinated but disgusted. The paddle seemed to bounce off Mother's bare butt. Mother moaned hoarsly with each blow but made no effort to protect herself. On the contrary, her thighs opened further -- whether involuntary under the pressure of the swats or not, I do not know -- exposing a dark thash of public hair.

I was concerned now about whether this 'game' would do real damage. Did I really want to play the caring daughter who saves her mother from -- what? Some sick and disgusting game played by a couple of pathetic middle-aged divorcees with way too much time on their hands? God, I just wanted out of this nightmare and back into the world of sanity.

As if some hidden signal passed between them, Mrs. Douglas put the paddle down. Mother made pitiful little whimpering sounds as she crawled to Mrs. Douglas. Mother took Mrs. Douglas' big toe in both hands and placed it in her mouth! She started making loud, sloppy sucking sounds like a baby nursing on her mother's nipple.

Mrs. Douglas put her other leg onto mother's shoulder and slipped her hand into the waistband of her pantyhose. I could see the outline of Mrs. Douglas's finger under the sheer dark nylon grobing like a blood-engorged worm probing the dark mysteries of new and strangly fertile soil.

Mother stopped sucking and ran her tongue along Mrs. Douglas's inner leg. When Mother reached Mrs. Douglas's inner thigh, Mrs. Douglas wrapped both her long, silky legs around Mother's head. Mother stared directly into Mrs. Douglas's cotton crotch panel, and, then, looked up at Mrs. Douglas questioningly.

"Use your teeth, bitch. You know how."

Mother head dove into Mrs. Douglas crotch with the same frenzied determination of a dog after its favorite bone. I could a white flash of teeth as Mother's head bobbed up and down between Mrs. Douglas's legs.

Mrs. Douglas smirked and unhurriedly unbuttoned the front of her silk-print blouse, exposing a lacy half-cup brassiere. There was a small blue tattoo on her right breast that I could not quite make out just near the cleavage line. She wraped both of her long stockinged legs Mother's head and ground her pelvis into Mother's face. Mother made muffled animal sounds as she continued to try to rip into the nylon.

There was a tearing sound. I saw a patch of reddish curls in a rip along the cotton panel. Mother took a ragged side of the rip in her teeth and whipped her head back and forth, back and forth, until Mother's head finally emerged from between Mrs. Douglas's legs. In her mouth was her prize - the white cotton panel edged with the remants of dark nylon. Mother let the panel drop from her mouth to the floor and looked up proudly at Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Douglas pat Mother on the head and, then, gently nudged Mother's head downward toward the darkness between her legs.

I ran out of the house and had to lean against my Chevy to catch my breath. My tires squealed loudly as I sped away. I couldn't believe what I had just seen. Mother and Mrs. Douglas? How could this be? A car honked behind me. I looked up and saw that the light was already green. I pulled my hand from between my legs. What had I been doing? As I pressed on the accelerator I found myself squirming in my seat. I was very wet. And very confused.

All eyes looked toward me as I entered the classroom 10 minutes late.

"Glad you could honor us with your presence, Ms. Fields," said Dr. Schoeder with a droll look. There was scattered titters from around the room. Having a good laugh, I guess, on the girl who ruined the grading curve for them on the midterm last week.

I just smiled sheepishly, and quickly looked over the classroom. I spotted Kevin toward the center of the classroom. He turned, and our eyes met briefly. I smiled at him, and he returned one of those silly grins. I looked for a vacant next to him but there were none. He hadn't saved me a seat! Kevin just shrugged and looked back at Dr. Shroeder. He can be so thoughtless sometimes.

I found a seat in the last row, and mumbled apologies as stepped past others to get to it.

I couldn't concentrate on the lecture. My mind kept wandering back to the scene in the kitchen. Mother. Did she really put her tongue into Mrs. Douglas's ... she fought the thoughts back from her mind. I looked up to see Dr. Schroeder scrawl something on the blackboard. What was he talking about? Nothing was clicking. I scanned the room and found the back of Kevin's head. He wasn't watching Dr. Schroeder either. I followed his gaze and found him staring at a girl two seats over. I think her name was Valerie but I didn't know her well. She was a pretty blond, but I looked closer and saw what Kevin was really gawking at. Valerie's eyes were watching Dr. Schroeder; and she was probably oblivious to the fact that her mini was hiked way up her thigh until the dark band at the top of her pantyhose was exposed. I glanced around and saw at least three other guys stealing glances at Valerie. My thoughts went back to the episode in the kitchen. What was this facination with pantyhose?

"I don't believe you didn't even save my a seat this morning!" I said as I pushed the piles of papers and the empty pizza box to one-side of Kevin's roommate's unmade bed so I could sit down.

Kevin's roommate, Bob, was out for the evening, which gave us the opportunity to study together undisturbed.

"Stop busting my balls 'bout it already, Dee Dee. I told you I couldn't hold the seat anymo'. Why were you late, anyway?"

"Never mind about that," I shot back a little too quickly. "I just wish you'd think of me sometimes."

"Hey, thinkin' 'bout cha all the time, Dee." He put his arm around me, and kissed my cheek.

"Do you, really?"

"Sho'." he said as his lips nuzzled my ear. I felt electric fingers dancing down my spine. He cupped my breast.

"Stop that." I said as I brushed his hand away.

His hand found my breast again. He twisted my nipple through my bra.

"I said stop, Kevin. I getting upset."

"Let ze Luv God show you ze path to ecstasy, bah-bee! You kin tell ze Luv God ta stop anything. Heh-heh. Ze Luv God'll respect yur wishes. Heh-heh," he whispered in my ear as he continued to maul my breast.

I slapped Kevin so hard I left a red imprint of my hand on his cheek. His glasses were unbroken, but probably loosened at the joint where Kevin had previously done a makeshift repair with an old bandaid.

Kevin squinted at me myoptically and, then, pushed his glasses back on his nose. "Hey... what's gotten into you. It's not like this is our, heh-heh, first time or anything."

"I'm not really in the mood right now, Kev. The're a lot of things happening at home."

"Your old lady? She's a bi..." He caught himself when he caught my look. He looked sheepishly back at me. "Hey, Dee, why doncha jus' move out."

"Things are difficult. I would _really_ not like to discuss it right now."

"OK. OK. Don't hit me! heh-heh. I'm a bleeder!" He raised his hands in mock surrender. I laughed.

He hestitantly reached out and put his arm around me. "Sorry, Kev. Maybe, I'm just a little sensitive."

He pulled his arm away quickly and held it protectively at his side. "Oh, yeah. heh-heh. Yeah, I get you. You doan hafta hit me over the head wid a ton a bricks. Heh-heh. Wrong time of the month. Flyin' the red flag. Heh-heh. Yeah. Listen, it's kinda late. Heh-heh. Maybe call it a night?"

"No, its nothing like that." I smiled and reached for his hand, and squeezed.

"No!?" His face brightened.

"Who pissed in your Cheerios, then. You FDSing or sumbin'?"

I laughed. "No, I'm not P-M-Sing, Kev. No... It's just that ... that. Ah, can I ask you something?"

"Sho' ... Any ding... sweet stuff ..." He said as he moved closer toward me with a sly glance.

I raised up my palm. "I'm serious, Kevin. Do you ..." I looked into his eyes. "...love me for who am I am?"

"Yeah, sho'... All da way, babykins," he said as he put his arm around my shoulder.

"Do you like the way I dress?"

"Fer sho', yeah ..." I could feel his hand creeping over to my breast.

"I saw you looking at Valerie in class."

"Valerie, the redhead with the big knockers? Yeah, heh-heh, you see I can heh-heh 'splain..."

"No. The blond. The one whose legs you were gawking at?"

"Oh .. yeah, her. Heh-heh. See, I was just comparing lecture notes and ..."

"Stop". I placed a finger over his lips. "Tell me ... do you like the way she dresses?"